Monthly Archives: July 2002

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Hmm… reading James Ellroy’s “LA Quartet” Black Dahlia, The Big Nowhere, L.A. Confidential, and White Jazz… so far, it’s certainly his best work. (Reading Nowhere now… I’m glad that I took Robin’s Recommendation… I initially didn’t want to read them, because his later books are really kinetic, written in a telegraphic style that can go for paragraphs, pages, without a complete sentence. (“12:45. Buzz McCall on the Simmons roust. Goose egg on McKibben. Nothing yet from that lazy fat fuck in Ballistics. Hit the street and out to the Valley to brace the shine at his fuck pad.” Etc… I’ve seen people’s journals here written on the same level. bleh.)

Occasionally I got the giggles when reading in that format, which I don’t think is what he had in mind. That said, Dudley Smith is one scary guy. I’d cross the street if I knew he was coming, not that it would help.

Other things I’m currently stumbling over…Pennsylvania Dutch Hex signs.

Thinking about a Clockwork Distelfink. Can you dig it, Scotto? Noir fiction in Pennsylvania Dutch country? Maybe.

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Crank yankers mostly sucks. (one good skit, four lame ones.) I hope that lame show gets replaced by something worthy of the timeslot.

I’m impressed at how funny south park was tonight, though.

please don’t worry about nt7… Yesterday morning the probability that it would collide with the Earth was one in 60,000. But by the end of the day, when a new set of observations had come in, the odds against a collision had risen to one in 75,000.

in happier news… the Fortean Times website is back online.. ahh… how I’ve missed it.

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The idea was “trapped in a bathroom, with only a roll of TP and a magic marker to keep you entertained…”

trapped in a room with just a roll of TP, and a sharpie.

It’s only 16k, so I don’t feel bad about not lj-cutting.

individual sheets are –

  1. whirly-1
  2. whirly-2
  3. looking down a spiral staircase
  4. tiki god
  5. candle at night
  6. worm’s eye view of me in socks on a glass floor, eating lucky charms, messily…. or laying back, dreaming of my sweetie. you decide.
  7. whirly-3
  8. old prospector
  9. daisy in the dark…
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Have to go to a follow-up from the lab at the doc’s this morning… I foresee a long wait and then a “you’re good… move on”

Burn up my morning, but better to be safe than for something weird to come up.

Wish me luck, dear journal.

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Here comes the Snickitty-Snackitty Man. His services are whispered of half as threat, half as promise. For the Snickitty-Snackitty Man can reach inside your head with those long, long fingernails of his, and *snick* *snack* there goes a memory.

Want to relive the first time you tasted pistachio ice cream? *snick* *snack* there goes the first time.

Want to reread Shakespeare, or Mark Twain, or Bob Wilson for the first time, to experience that sense of wonder again? *snick* *snack* and the books are an unknown land to you.

Want to experience the rush of first love? *snick* *snack* and you’ve never loved before.

There you are, free to experience these things again. Of course, you can’t quite remember the name of the little girl who had strawberry when you had pistachio, or the smell of the cut grass in Central Park on that hot summer night when he read Othello’s part with such majesty, or the name of your wife and children.

But that’s not important. *snick* *snack*

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my first design for 1000 blank cards –

Newt Headbutt.... Kitty love. +10 points
Newt Headbutt…. Kitty love. +10 points

All this notepad drawing got me thinking…

Heck… I’ve got some basic-colored shirts. *slips into a striped tan and darker khaki shirt*
*cues the music*

Newt's Clues!

We are playin’ Newt’s clues…we are playin’ newt’s clues… I wonder what they are….

A clue! A clue! Achoo? Bless you! “NOOOO SCOTTOOOOO.. A CLUUUUUE” Oh! A clue!

I’d better break out my handy-dandy palmtop.

Newt put his little paw print on these.. can you guess what game he wants to play?
coffee mug
a coffee mug

eyepatch
An eye patch

pillow
a pillow

Hmm… we’d better all sit on the thinking futon!
futon

Heck.. I don’t know. Do you?

I’ll wait here until we figure it out.

meanwhile.. some linkies.

Looks like R’yleh could be rising again…

Managing Activism is written for PR practitioners whose clients engage in risky businesses (fossil fuels, pesticides, genetically engineered foods, nuclear waste, toxic dumps, animal testing) and who therefore become the targets of “activist groups” including “environmentalists, workers’ rights activists, animal rights groups and human rights campaigners.”

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Truth is stranger than fiction, because fiction has to make sense. Janet Reno was in town this last weekend… I forgot to mention it earlier. She is indeed sort of squatchy, according to reliable witnesses.

I think I’ve figured out what I’ll do with Dan on my next visit… 1000 blank white cards. Some highlights of other folk’s cards…(warning, some adult content, possibly not safe for work). I’m rather partial to “Win a dream date with Chewbacca” +526, and the food chain. (I didn’t know Blue whales ate cats!) The Boston set and Seattle set are both nice. Hummingbird thinks you are delicious. +5

Thirty Minutes With A Surly Harrison Ford – a funny glimpse into “roundtable” movie press junkets. Although, to be fair, you can’t fault Harrison Ford for an industry-wide publicity machine that favors fluffy sound bites over anything of substance, supplying ill-prepared reporters who ask dumb questions with steady jobs.

I saw something this morning while tooling around on the HZ… a dumpster diver. A possibly homeless guy going from trash bin to trash bin, collecting, stomping flat, and storing recyclable cans in 40 gallon trash bags. He had one that was already full, and a second that he was in the process of loading up. I wonder how much he gets per bag? When I was a Middle-school kid, living in Hypoluxo, I’d go collecting cans and load up about a bag or two over the course of a few hours… I seem to recall I got about $20 for three hour’s work, and that was back in the early 80s. Strange flashback… I remember my broomstick with a nail in it, and crushing the cans to small discs so that more would fit. The smell of that last dreg of beer coming out from under your shoe smelling so foul. As a kid, I thought it was urine, because of the color and reek. That Christmas, I get a Battlestar Galactica jacket… pictures of silver cylons on it, with the big double diamond base star on the back. I thought I looked so cool.

Singing kitty flash thing. Cute and vaguely disturbing.

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This Looks Like a Job For…

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…a complete scan of Action Comics #1. I dig old comics, I dig Superman, & I dig Joe Schuster’s simple but effective art. There’s something really endearing about it. I adore the early vision of Superman as someone who stops wife beaters and munitions manufacturers. He was so populist and leftist…too bad that changed into the cosmic demigod we have today. (Although I like that version of Superman, too… just not as nearly as much.)

Also…The cutest psych test ever. with just enough bad English to endear it to me. Hello, Dr. Kitty!

“You easily feel stressful. – Only with a little bit of additional work plus controlling your temper, you would then lose energy.”

They recommend “Not only you would accumulate your stress, you are weak to release it. for this type exercise and Karaoke will be the best way.”

Thanks for showing me those links, josh!

I’ve decided to name the bike the “Hofmann Zephyr“… a combination of missv and ldy‘s suggestions. Bright color trails and a gentle breeze. I like that. All the suggestions were fun ones.
The Hofmann Zephyr! I need to get some glow sticks or crepe!

I feel that I can only vaguely conceptualize infinity, not really understand it. I can make a sign for it and manipulate it in an equation, I can make up metaphors for describing it or “understanding” it, I can come up with synonyms and thought experiments…but I cannot experience infinity. How the heck can I possibly understand infinity when everything I experience is finite? Do not confuse a facility for description with understanding. Map and territory, menu and meal.

Hitting the sack… sweet dreams, dear journal. Warm thoughts to any who read this. Peace.

A quick quote before I go –

“I share the belief of many of my contemporaries that the spiritual crisis pervading all spheres of Western industrial society can be remedied only by a change in our world view. We shall have to shift from the materialistic, dualistic belief that people and their environment are separate, toward a new consciousness of an allreality, which embraces the experiencing ego, a reality in which people feel their oneness with animate nature and all of creation.”
–DR. ALBERT HOFMANN

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Time magazine is reporting the results of an “unpublished ATF study” regarding which guns are most often used in crimes:

the list:

  1. Smith and Wesson .38 revolver
  2. Ruger 9 mm semiautomatic
  3. Lorcin Engineering .380 semiautomatic
  4. Raven Arms .25 semiautomatic
  5. Mossberg 12 gauge shotgun
  6. Smith and Wesson 9mm semiautomatic
  7. Smith and Wesson .357 revolver
  8. Bryco Arms 9mm semiautomatic
  9. Bryco Arms .380 semiautomatic
  10. Davis Industries .380 semiautomatic

Hmm…sets this to mind.

*two police detectives regard the corpse of a short Asian in a dark alley. The deceased obviously died from gun shot wounds*

Detective Lucas: “Whaddya think? Gang related?”

Detective Jackson: “That’s what I thought, until I looked at the shell casings” *holds up evidence bag*.

Detective Lucas: “Something up?”

Detective Jackson: “The firing pin marks on the primers are square.”

Detective Lucas: “Which means what?”

Detective Jackson: “Only Glocks have square firing pins. You know any gangbangers in this neighborhood with Glocks?”

Detective Lucas: “No… most of them use piece of junk .380s… crap more likely to take your hand off than kill someone.”

Detective Jackson: “Exactly. Yet this guy was killed with top of the line hardware.”

Detective Lucas: “Sounds like there’s a new player in town.”

Det2: *sips coffee*

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Exciting, sexual, emotional dreams last night… Very erotic and pleasant…I woke up a-tingle, with my sweetheart’s name on my lips. I wrote more about it in my dream log… I’ll transcribe it for private reading later today.

Somehow or another, the computer turned off last night… very odd. was there a power outage? I didn’t hear the ups chirp.

I’m vain enough to notice that I’m getting more gray in my beard… but not so vain that I mind. I must’ve been on testosterone overdrive this weekend, because my face furred up fast…it was like mowing the yard after a week of summer rain.

I’ve currently got no real complaints… I could certainly bitch about a few things, but nothing so major that it bears talking about. I think that’s a good place to be. I like to count my blessings regularly. Those that I love know it. (I feel that Newt understands, even though English isn’t his strong suit.)

Scotto factoid time. Is it? Sure, why not?

I go through cycles of sound. Some periods, I need to have something going in the background… soft music, television, the whir of the A/C… If I can hear myself breathing, then it becomes a distraction.

Other times, I want it so quiet that I can hear the blood pump in my body while at rest. I like to lay awake at night, with my ear pressed against a bicep, or Newton’s side, and just listening to things happening inside…the creak of a tendon, squish of blood being pushed through a vein, or in Newton’s case… hear his tummy digesting a midnight snack or purring like a lawnmower. It’s also fun to hear him eat.

When I smell ozone, I think that I can fly. I have no idea why that is, but I feel simultaneously energized and relaxed by the stuff.

Before Newton, there were times when I’d gone an entire weekend without speaking a single word aloud. I wonder if I was trapped on a desert island on my own, how long my silence would rule. I think I’d end up “singing in the shower”, if there was a warm waterfall nearby, but might not speak much outside of that.

I’m really impressed by Charlotte Church lately… she’s got an amazing talent.

Time for me to move… see you later, dear journal!